Remember
by SweetSinger2010
Summary: It's a half-lie: Kate doesn't remember just the gunshot.  She remembers everything in vivid detail.  She knows she can ignore the memories, but can she ignore the man sitting at her bedside? Tag to "Rise."


Author's Note: So, I shouldn't be writing ANOTHER new fic, but I just can't seem to help myself. My hiatus was forced by a tragic pen-drive accident (in which all my fics were lost to the computer) and then extended by that demon known as Fall Semester 2011. I'm back temporarily and present you with my first-person experiment. Let me know if it's a flop. This is a tag to 4.01, "Rise." Yeah, I'm that far behind with the season. Review and enjoy!

Remember

"I hear that you tried to save me," I smile. It's my way of saying thank you. I should have known better than to say anything at all.

For a moment, a smile plays around his mouth. Reminds me of when he pulled me out of my burning apartment and couldn't _wait_ to brag about how he'd kicked the door in. "Yeah, I, uh—"

And that's when his face drops like a lead balloon. His eyes flick up to meet mine, sharp blue and gently calculating. A master of words, he heard the trick I just played with mine.

Can of worms: opened.

A slight pause. The timbre of his voice is higher, quizzical. "You heard? You don't remember me tackling you?"

I lie. I don't remember much of anything, I say.

"You don't remember—" he falters before re-directing the question I can see forming on his lips. "the gunshot?"

Oh, Castle. If only you knew.

Of course I remember the gunshot. I remember the way it sounded as it ripped the air. I remember the way it burned when it penetrated my chest. I remember hearing my name being screamed at me from a hundred miles away. I remember you covered that distance in a nano-second. Took me out like a linebacker.

And you know what's odd? I didn't even feel it. It was like a clip from "America's Funniest Home Videos," when some idiot's camera gets knocked over and you just sit there watching the scenery do a nauseating 180-flip.

_Beckett down, Beckett down!_

I remember I was confused. My head was aching, pounding, and I could hear my blood rushing in my ears. At first I thought that maybe I'd locked my knees and passed out while giving the eulogy. What a rookie mistake. Then my vision finally cleared and you were pulling yourself off of me. You hovered, blocking the sun. I'll never forget how terribly serious you were, how drawn your face looked when you saw the bullet hole and the blood soaking my uniform. I could read the truth in your eyes like a line from a _Heat_ novel.

But you didn't panic, Castle, and on some unconscious level, I was proud of you. In a parallel universe somewhere, you're a phenomenal cop.

You didn't panic, but I did. I wish I could describe how it felt to be drowning in my own blood. The short version is: I couldn't breathe. I could only struggle, and the effort was beyond painful. You tried to calm me.

"Okay. Shh, it's ok. Kate, please."

You held my head and I wished you would hold the rest of me, like in the freezer compartment. Frankly, I preferred _that_ death to this one.

Death. I remember mulling that word over and over as breathing became harder and your voice grew more and more distant.

"Stay with me, Kate. Don't leave me—please. Stay with me, okay?"

_That's_ when I remember everything started to go black. My body started to relax on its own. The pressure in my chest was crushing and I couldn't even feel you touching me anymore.

"Kate."

Why is it that every time you call me Kate, something bad is happening?

"I love you." You said it again, and there was an urgency in your voice that I'd never heard before. "I love you, Kate."

If you could have read my mind at that moment—right before I passed out, never expecting to wake again—you would have laughed. It was such a _Star Wars_ moment, Castle. You told me you loved me, and my last conscious thought was, "I know."

But it's not something I'm ready to talk about yet. I'm not ready to tell you that I love you too and that, really, I always have. I'm not ready to acknowledge that my life has shattered and I have to rebuild it—again. I'm not ready to deal with the gaping hole in my chest, either.

I'm not going to be like that bimbo in those vampire books and go crawl in a hole somewhere until I wake up and find the world a better place, but I just can't take this all on. Not today, not tomorrow, not next week.

"You don't remember the gunshot?"

Our eyes lock, but I don't hesitate. I can't.

"No. I don't remember much of anything."

I'm so sorry, Castle.


End file.
